A Game to Remember
by Purplette237
Summary: SYOT CLOSED! We all had a family, we all had a life, and we each had a story. Because of the 72nd Hunger Games there are twenty- three unfinished stories, and one broken life. 'I get it now, but it's far too late, I've already become a victor. The kids that win the Hunger Games aren't the ones that come out, no. They are the ones that get to die in there.'
1. Chapter 1

**Tribute information at bottom**

… **Seneca Crane…**

I do my best to suppress the nerves in my body as I Make my way to President Snow's office. He is wanting a great games this year, and that means a great arena. He is a very hard person to impress, and not the best when un- satisfied. I'm very confident that he'll like the arena that I have planned for this year.

When I reach his office, I cautiously knock.

"Come in," he voices, and I open the door. He is sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed.

"Hello sir," I say, sitting down in the rather uncomfortable chair across from his desk.

"Last years' game was quite disappointing, Seneca. Six of the tributes died from the heat," President Snow comments, frowning. Last year, the arena was a desert, and I don't really see the problem. The audience loved it, they always do.

"Well, I think all of Panem will be impressed by this arena," I say genuinely. I don't mention that they will also be surprised, some even sickened.

"I'll be the judge of that. Ezplain, and don't make me regret making you Head Gamemaker," he warned. I nod in understanding.

"All of the tributes start out on the water- type liquid. They will assume that it is blood, everyone will. That is the point. It will be five feet deep. The Cornucopia will be just on the beach. Just off the beach will be a jungle with many ferocious animals and bugs. They may find some… surprises in there," I say feeling quite pleased with myself. The lake of 'blood' will most definitely throw some tributes off. District Four should be okay, as long as they are not scared of blood.

"Hm, it definitely sounds different. Hopefully you'll be able to create a rather unique Hunger Games. You'll be receiving the tribute list soon. You may leave," he was now facing away from me, looking out his window at the Capital. I released a breath that I wasn't aware I was holding in.

I stand, and walk to the door. I open it, when he says something.

"Oh, and Seneca. Make the 72nd Hunger Games one to remember,"

"Of course, sir,"

**Okay, rules for the SYOT. Each person can submit a maximum of three tributes. Reserving is allowed, but I'll need your tribute(s) within four days. I don't care about recycled tributes, as long as they either died, or that story is already finished. I will keep the list on my profile, and update it when I get tributes. PM ONLY, sorry. I MAY have to ask you to change your tributes age, please look at tribute list so far before submitting! Here is the tribute form:**

Name (first and last):

Gender:

Age:

District (top 3):

Appearance (hair, eyes, skin tone, height, weight):

Personality (be descriptive):

History:

Family/Friends:

Reaping outfit:

Strengths (at least 3)

Weaknesses (at least 3):

Likes (at least 2):

Dislikes (at least 3):

Token:

Meaning behind token:

Reaped or volunteered (why if volunteered):

Private training session (what did they do) preferred score (I may or may not give it to you):

Interview outfit:

Quote from interview:

Bloodbath strategy:

Open to alliances?:

Careers?

Attitude towards the games:

Attitude towards blood:

Fears:

Open to romance?:

**Okay! Remember PM ONLY!**


	2. Chapter 2: District 9 Reaping

**SYOT information in first chapter**

… **Bellamarie: Escort…**

It is exactly 1:58 p.m. at the Town Square in District Nine. It smells of freshly harvested wheat, and… sweat. It's a ghastly scent, wheat smelled fine, but nothing smells good with the stench of sweat. Ugh, I bet my silver heels that half of this district did not bathe this morning.

Oh well, District Nine is still far better than District Twelve. After all, District Twelve is the laughingstock of Panem, especially with Haymich as the last victor for them alive.

One minute to go, one minute to show time.

I look back behind me at the two mentors chosen for this year. There is Hazel Mantra, she's thirty-… eight, I think. She has an eleven year old son and an eight year old daughter. Then there is Grant Willman; twenty- five. No kids, no lover, and no social life. Perhaps I'm being harsh, I think his lover died in the Hunger Games. It made such a great story.

Then I turn back to the audience. All of the twelve through eighteen year olds have been herded into the roped off area. A few hopeful tributes stand out. Muscular boys, beautiful girls. It has been a long time since District Nine has had a victor. Grant was the last victor. If I pick the right tributes, oooooooohh, imagine the parties.

Zero minutes. I walk up to the microphone at the center of the stage. My new silver heels click against the concrete.

"It's show time District Nine! We get to find out which lucky young boy and girl get to represent you in the Capital! It's all so very exciting," I say, and try to keep composure when the crowd stays silent. "How about this year we begin with the… boys!" I walk to the left to where the boys' bowl is located. I stick my arm in and ruffle with the paper for thirty seconds. Please be a winner, please be a winner!

"Sakusen Munin!" I say enthusiastically into the microphone. All eyes turn to the boy in the fifteen section. He has pale blonde hair with reddish sections that is sticking up in all directions. When he sees everyone looking at him one of his green eyes twitch. As he makes his way to the stage he tries to look at everyone at once, glaring every now and then. When he gets to the stage, I sling my arm around his shoulder.

… **Sakusen Munin…**

She's touching me. _Why is she touching me?_ It must be because she is trying to get a sample of me, so she can hunt me down. It must all be part of her master plan to kill me.

"Shall we see who your district partner will be, Sakusen?" she asks me, as if it's my choice. It is never my choice. I take her arm off of my shoulder using only my thumb and pointer finger, then I take two steps away from her. She humps', probably because she couldn't get a part of me. But she'll be back, they always come back.

She goes to the girls' bowl, and this time takes the first one she comes in contact with. She had to look for mine, so she could watch me die.

"Sylvie Hossbender!" all eyes turn to the fourteen year old section, to a girl with straight red hair just past her shoulders, and wide brown eyes.

"What the HELL?!" she yells, not believing what is happening. That girl is an inch taller than me, that means she want to kill me.

… **Sylvie Hossbender…**

How can this be happening? How can I be going into the Hunger Games, with Sakusen of all people?

"Sylvie! No!" Harley Anne, my best friend yells. The Peacekeepers escort me to the stage. When up there, I see that everyone looks sorry for me, even the I have fought. It makes anger boil inside me. They can give their sympathy to someone else. I'm no weakling. I have a chance.

"Sylvie, Sakusen, shake hands," Bellamarie commands, the absolute airhead. I reach my hand out, waiting for the un- social freak to just shake it. He looks at it, accusingly. Then he reaches in and barely touches it before retracting his arm. Whatever, good enough for me, I pull my arm back.

Bellamarie sighs.

**Okay, I'll be doing the Reapings in no particular order, because I don't have all the tributes yet. I'll probably do District Four next. Review, tell me what you think. Later on, I will be starting an interactive sponsoring thing for anyone, I'll post that after all of the Reapings.**


	3. Chapter 3: District Four Reaping

**I still need a district one girl, district two girl, district five boy, district six boy, district eleven boy, and district twelve boy, so PM me if you are interested. I would also appreciate it if people could get in their reserved tributes as soon as possible, pretty please.**

… **Alontro: Escort…**

All of the possible tributes have gathered, and they all smell like fish. Dead fish, to be specific. Mags, the girl's mentor this year, is tapping her foot, and constantly looking at her watch. She takes a break to glare at me. She should really be more like Finnick. Finnick is leaning back in his chair, smiling and winking at someone in the crowd. My bets are on Annie. Annie is coming to the Capital this year, but she won't be mentoring, only watching.

I finally decide to look at the clock. It's 2:11 p.m., were eleven minutes behind. I don't see what the problem is, it's not like the Capital can just start without District Four. So, I'm a forty- two year old guy with purple hair. Let me have this last joy in life.

We are now officially twelve minutes behind. That is one more minute than last year, it feels good to keep things fresh. I decide to approach the microphone.

"I guess I should start this shin- dig," I say blandly into the microphone. Some look at me confused, and the majority chooses to not acknowledge my presence at all. I guess they don't use the word shin- dig anymore. This is what happens when I attempt to 'get with the system' as they say.

"Whatever, I guess the term is ladies first?" I walk over to the girls' bowl. I retrieve the first one that I touch. While I walk to the microphone, I try to use the slip of paper to keep the stench out. But the slip of paper smells like dead fish too.

"Aithusa Thalassa," I read off. Isn't the mayor's last name Thalassa?

… **Aithusa Thalassa…**

Wait a second, did he just say my name? Avery gives me a small push towards the stage. I put on a smile for the Capital, and make my way to the stage.

"Any volunteers?" he asks when I'm on the stage. None of the low- lives in District Four will volunteer for me, but it's for the best. They would be dead within the first five minutes. I bet my father is happy to see his deadly daughter go. He already has Avery.

"I shouldn't even bother to ask," Alontro mutters under his breath. "Okay boys, it's your turn now," he says, going over to the boys' bowl. I shake my head, my waist- length wavy black hair swaying. Alontro isn't a very peppy person, but that is just fine with me.

"Martin Malaroy, what a lucky boy," he says into the microphone. Another seventeen year old.

"I VOLUNTEER!" oh no, not him. But it is, I see a fourteen year old boy making his way up to the stage. Brown hair and hazel eyes, along with a muscular build. Now, I could make an alliance with almost anybody, but I can not stand the social leech known as Tommy Malaroy.

… **Tommy Malaroy…**

I smile as I mount the stage. Martin is raising his eyebrows at me, and most of my friends are either shaking their heads or glaring at me. I stand a better chance than my brother, he's much smarter, but smarts can only get a person so far. Then there is the fact that he is self- centered, and not exactly the most social person I know.

"Great, we have a volunteer, just great. What is your name?" Alontro asked, but he sounded kind of sarcastic. I like him already.

"Tommy Malaroy," I answer proudly, still flashing smiles at the camera.

"Shake hands, we wouldn't want to be late, now would we?" Alontro says, but we are going to be late anyway. District Four is late every year, he makes sure of it.

Aithusa is holding out her hand for me to shake, smiling. I shake it. I can see behind that dangerously beautiful face, and I can bet that she already hates my guts.

**There is District Four, I hope it's okay! Remember to PM me if you are interested! Even if you already have your three tributes…**

**Review, tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4: District 8 Reaping

**SYOT information in first chapter**

**Flamina: Escort**

Yay, I'm so excited! Another Hunger Games! I go off into a fit of giggles. I turn to the mentors, to see if they are as excited as I am. After all, District Eight is by far my favorite district. They make all of my precious clothes!

Cecelia was smiling at me in that motherly way, a way that I really didn't understand. She's in her thirties with three kids, and they are all just so cute! Woof looks like a pile of wrinkles, hee hee, there are so many! I don't think he even heard me.

I skip to the front of the stage, where the microphone, but my head bonks into it. "Owieeee," I whine, hee hee Heee, I'm so funny. No, stop getting sidetracked, it's time to do this thing!

"Happy Hunger Games District Eight! I can bet that you are just as excited as me!" Yes, so excited that its stuffed down, deep inside them. They all must be very good at hiding it.

"Guess what boys? You get to go first this year! I wish I was as lucky as you," I skip over to the boys' bowl. I jerk my hand around in the bowl, constntly giggling. I finally snatch one up, and skip back to the microphone.

"Oliver Taylor!" I see all of the boys move away from a boy in the sixteen section. He has silvery blonde hair, brown eyes, and he was standing at a proud height of 5'9. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking; probably from extreme excitement.

"Come on up young man," I beckon him.

**... Oliver Taylor...**

****The games are terrifying enough when I have to watch them on television, but being in the games is on a whole other level of terrifying. The Peacekeeper have to come and escort, or drag, me to the stage, because I was not going to go up there willingly.

I look at my best friends; Clara and Jessa. I never got to tell Jessa...

"Okay ladies! Let's see which one of you gets to join Mr. Taylor," Flamina says happily, before childishly skipping to the girls' bowl. I'll tell Jessa, I'll tell her before I leave, I have to.

"Jessamine Belcourt," no, no, no,not Jessa. It can't be. The crowd looks at a girl with jet black hair, falling just above her shoulders n ringlets. It was Jessa. I felt a sudden burst of confidence, but it was short lived. I would have to kill, and watch as blood was spilled before my eyes. I will try, I'll do it for Jessa, I swear.

**... Jessamine Belcourt...**

Things were getting a bit ironic. It was bad enough when one of my best friends were reaped, bu now I was too.

I keep my face void of emotion as I walk to the stage. It'll all be okay, I know that I already have one ally, Oliver. Maybe we could get someone else too.

As soon as I reach the stage, Flamina grabs my arm and drags me to the center. Clara looks like she is going to die right there, she's losing both of her best friends with one blow.

" Okay, be a good sport, shake hands," Flamina says. Oliver looks terrified. I try to cheer him up with a warm smile, and offer my hand for him to shake. He gives a tiny smile, and. Nod. He shakes my hand. I can't help but know that either one of us is coming home, or neither of us are.

**Thats district eight! I'm working on District Seven right now, so they are next. I still need five tributes, I should hopefully get them soon! -_-, I had to go to the dentist yesterday, I hate the dentist.**


	5. Chapter 5: District 7 Reaping

… **Kason: Escort…**

I'm so cool. The crowd loves me, and the ladies especially love me. It must be the new hair color, blue is very luring. Oh, stop being modest Kason, it's everything. What is not to like? I am the total package.

I turn my head to give Johanna a dazzling smile. She gives me a sly grin, and rolls her eyes. Ah, playing hard to get, huh. Well, I'm a very busy man, she'll come around eventually.

Blight gives me very disapproving looks. I see how it is. I'll stay off your turf, man. I would hate to piss off a person that is very handy with an axe. Not that he will ever be any match to me, at least where the ladies are concerned. I look better than him to… oh, stop bragging Kason!

Well, I think it's about time I give District Seven something to look at. I flip on my new, cool shades, and strut to the microphone. I put on my dazzling smile as I grip it.

"Hello District Seven. Like my pants? They're new," I gesture to my new sparkling silver pants. They must be the shy type, because I know they loved my zebra print pants from last year. No, they're probably just jealous.

"Enough about me, though you can never really get enough. Ladies first, it's only right," I wink to all of the ladies in the crowd. I walk over to the girls' bowl. I reach my hand in, and choose a slip of paper at random. Then I strut right back to the microphone.

"The young lady that gets the pleasure of travelling with me is," inserts pause for dramatic effect. "Nettle Bark," I boom into the microphone. All of the ladies turn to a girl with dark brown hair (almost black), big blue eyes, and was about 5'4. She looked like she was about to cry; no doubt tears of joy. Only so many get the chance to be in my company.

… **Nettle Bark…**

Me? Me, in the Hunger Games? I don't want to go in there. I… I'm not ready to die yet. I barely just turned sixteen. I feel like crying, but that would be like shouting to all of Panem: 'I'm weak, just an easy person to kill off!'

While being 'escorted' to the stage by Peacekeepers, it gets harder and harder to stay collected. I bite my lip, the numbing pain keeps my mind off of the real problem.

When I reach the stage Kason is giving me an overly creepy grin, and pushes up his sunglasses, (Kason: they are cool shades, not sunglasses). Kason sighs.

"It's the boys' turn, not nearly as much fun as the girls', but what can you do? He says, and walks over to the boys' bowl with much less enthusiasm. Why would he be so enthusiastic about the girls? He is at least twenty- seven.

My thought keep thinking of previous Hunger Games. I remember all of the ways that careers tore tributes apart, the way they left their ally's to die. Don't cry, don't cry, I am not going to cry, no tears will be shed, no tears will be used against me.

"Alexander Clark," Kason announced. Keep your mind on your district partner. I see a fourteen year old boy with brown hair, hazel eyes, and looks about an inch over six feet tall. I don't know him. Why do I feel like I am so screwed?

… **Alexander Clark…**

I do my best to ignore peoples' looks as I make my way to the stage. My mother looks like she has gone into shock, my father has disappeared from the crowd (probably so no one will see him cry), my brother Cole looks like he is in a daze, and my best friend Alisa is crying. They are acting like they are the ones coming up to the stage. Trust the Hunger Games to single- handedly ruin the life that I have built for myself.

When I get to the stage, Kason is standing next to Nettle. Trying to look cool. He is way too old to still be considered cool.

"Shake hands, I can't wait for you to hear all about me," Kason says, his sunglasses sliding down his nose.

Nettle and I shake hands, but there is no feeling behind it. I don't trust her. Then again, I don't know her, and I would be happy to get to know her.

**Hee hee, I like Kason, he was fun to write. People who have submitted a tribute can let me know if they have a pairing idea, because I am still not sure on all of them. I would appreciate it. I only need three more tributes, yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. O_O my mom made me go to the doctors today, there were soooo many little kids screaming and one asked me to save them. I failed the poor little kid.**


	6. Chapter 6: District 1 Reaping

**Disclaimer- All rights go to Suzanne Collins.  
IMPORTANT NOTE AT THE BOTTOM.**

* * *

… **Angelina: Escort…**

I absolutely love District Two, damn you President Snow for sticking me as the escort for District One. I mean sure, they are both technically Career districts, so what. District Two really knows how to bring on the blood. District One tributes are almost always prissy little brats that rely on others to save their sorry butts. The only reason they have so many victors is because District Two tributes milk them to the finish.

All you have to do is look at the District One victors so far. I can even look behind me at the 'mentors' for this year. Yeah, coach the tributes to be beautiful and to hide behind the District Two tributes.

First we have Cashmere. She has blonde hair cascading in curls and emerald green eyes. By now, at the age twenty- three, she is a spitting image of perfection. I snort. I had to watch District Two save her behind way too many times. She was great at nagging the should- have- been victors.

Then we have her older brother Gloss. I know right? How could to weaklings from the same family win the games? By using the District Two tributes as shields. He looks a lot like his sister, with the same emerald green eyes and slightly darker blonde hair. He is twenty- four now, I guess that makes him the queen. Yes, queen. Kings are reserved for the real victors.

I look out to the crowd of possible tributes. I twitch. They are all spitting images of perfection. That's the point though, isn't it? They can replace the current victors when they get old and wrinkly, with an exact copy. I bet District Two came up with the genius idea.

I smooth back my ocean blue hair. (Yes, blue. It reminds me of my time in District Four. They could also kick District One's you- know- whats.) Then I huff a little bit in annoyance, and 'calmly' walk to the center of the stage, right to the microphone.

"'Sup petty brats of District One! Maybe someday you'll get the memo and bring on the bloody violence!" I yell condescendingly into the microphone. Ha, now they hate me even more, what with all of the 'dangerous' glares. Oh the irony, I snorted.

"Whatever, ladies die first, I guess," I said, with a rather nice play of words. Then I walk to the girls' bowl and reach my hand in. Who knows, I might get a tribute that is District Two at heart this year.

"The lucky beauty queen is… Silver Kulton!" I say with mock enthusiasm. Nah, someone's going to volunteer. A few people were looking at a scrawny twelve year old that probably couldn't hurt a fly. Apparently she knew someone would volunteer too, as she was having a conversation with the girl next to her.

"I volunteer!" I hear a shout, as said girl comes into the aisle, walking toward the stage. Her hair was a light brown tinted blonde, with bangs, and brown eyes peeking out. She walked with confidence, at an average height of 5'7. I was about to bypass her as an average beauty queen of District One, when I saw her face. She wasn't smiling, she wasn't trying to dazzle the Capital. If anything, her expression looked cold and judging. A look that I have seen on a few promising District Two tributes.

I grin, I think I might have finally gotten something that I can work with.

… **Placida Han…**

I'm eighteen, and I've been training since I can remember. In a way, I'm finally doing what I was born to do. To fight, to hurt, to kill. When I come back, maybe my family will finally be proud of me. If becoming a victor won't do it, nothing will.

Angelina, the escort, was grinning wildly. She had a sort of fire in her eyes. It made me smirk, the slightest bit. She was no doubt expecting some clueless beauty that relies on her charm and allies. No, my allies will be counting on me.

"What's your name, brat?" she asked me, still sporting that insane grin. I knew insane.

"Placida Han," I answered. She glanced at me one more time before wandering mindlessly to the boys' bowl. I see my father in the crowd. He has an iron jaw. He doesn't look proud, he looks nothing. It's like nothing changed, like his daughter isn't going into a battle to death. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to, I won't let it.

"Seamus Fitzgerald," Angelina calls out. Seamus is only sixteen, with dark hair and dark eyes. He gets one step before someone volunteers for him.

"I VOLUNTEER!" Does he know that he doesn't need to be that loud? I see a tall muscular guy emerge with short silvery hair and icy eyes. I know him, vaguely. I know that he has two girlfriends going right now; Heaven and Celestia. I also know that he only cares about himself, and the few people that are close to him. I don't have anything against him yet.

Either way, I will have to work with him as allies. Which means that I'll have to get myself in that self- absorbed circle of his.

… **Glass Spectrum…**

I walk to the stage with pride, smiling the whole way. I'm eighteen, and it was finally my year to volunteer. I've already talked to Heaven and Celestia about this.

Heaven broke up with me, saying that she would take me back if I won. Which means that we'll be getting back together; I am going to win. Celestia was nicer about it, (I like her better than Heaven anyway). She said that she could, and would, wait for me.

I climb the stage, next to our escort Angelina. She just started with our district last year, and it's obvious that she is a District Two fan. It's probably because those tributes actually look like killers. We are too, but we don't look like we came from Hell itself. Well, I think I'll make an exception for Placida.

"Great, great, two overconfident brats on my hands. What's your name?" Angelina asked.

"Glass Spectrum," I replied. Now back to Placida. It's not just the cold exterior, I've seen her fight. She's just plain malicious, and no matter who you are, she'll ruin you. I've seen the remains of people she has ruined. It's a fact of life.

"Shake hands," the escort advised. I held my hand out for her to shake, and she shook it. Placida will be a good ally to have in the arena, you know, as long as she doesn't slit my throat while I'm sleeping.

* * *

**There's District One! Okay, I have a plan, and that's a first. The more points that your tributes get, the more likely they are to survive. So, here's how you can get them points.**

**Follow the story- 5 points to each of your tributes.**

**Favorite the story- 5 points to each of your tributes.**

**Each review (starting in this chapter)- 5 points, but let me know which tribute to give the points to, if not then I'll just decide.**

**There will be sponsoring that will be required, but not until all of the Reapings are done. Um, Bye?**


	7. Chapter 7: District Five Reaping

**My mom is an absolute slave driver when she wants to be. She made my brother and I clean the garage, and trust me there are some unmentionable things in there.**

… **Deon: Escort…**

Ah, it's Hunger Games season! The style, the fashion, the hair! Eeeeeeeeeekkkk! Girl squeal! They should really call it a guy squeal, I mean, I do it all the time! District Five just makes it all the more exciting. The power district, I mean; I GOT THE POWER! Shimmy, shimmy. Boom boom pow, gotta get that BOOM BOOM POW! Power! They totally have extreme power!

I can see it within the current victors. Oh my gosh, two of them are sitting right behind me. Act natural, keep calm Deon! Keep calm! You must contain it. THEY'VE GOT THE POWER! *wheeze, wheeze; giggle, giggle.*

Anyway, to our right we have Thalia. She's mean, she's green… I sound so much like an announcer! I'm actually not sure whether she's mean or not. She doesn't look very mean at all. She has almond (I like almonds a lot) brown hair with matching eyes. (She matches!) Thirty- one and she can still totally rock those heels. OH NO, I'M A CRAZY STALKER DUDE! That does not look good on a résumé.

In our other corner we have Theo! He's rough, he's tough, he's a total killing machine! (I'm not even kidding this time. You should have seen him when I stole his beer, I still feel the need to look over my shoulder every once in a while.) He's a ginger, (Ginger ale appeals to me) with dark brown eyes, and man is he TALL! Tall is a four letter word,… who knew?

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Come along my kiddies! (See what I did there? I switched pretties to kiddies.) Yes, yes, the possible tributes have gathered. Since this is District Five it's obvious that… THEY GOT THE POWER! It's just common knowledge. I wonder if District Five has a snack bar, I am getting kind of hungry.

OH, OH, OH! There is a microphone over there. I should totally go ask.

"Oh, hey, hi! Happy Hunger Games in all, but that is beside the point. Does anyone know where I can find a snack bar around here?" I ask, why do I feel like I'm missing something? How dare they roll their eyes at me! Well, I guess I _should _be doing this whole Reaping thing first.

"Right, Reaping first, snack later, the world is cruel like that. Ladies first, or was it lanterns first? No, no it was _definitely _ladies first," I announced, finally getting to all of this Reaping jazz. I trudge over to the girls' bowl, (yes trudge. It would be so much more enjoyable if I had some jelly beans with me.)

"Hmmmmmm, this print is so small… aha! Arianna Wallace! Now where are you?" I notice some girls sigh in relief as they look at a pale seventeen year old. Her brown hair falls to her waist with bouncy curls (I think, but her hair was in a low pony tail), and it really compliments her ocean blue eyes. I've always wanted to go to an ocean, but for now I'll have to settle for my bath tub.

… **Arianna Wallace…**

Oddly enough, the first thing I thought when I was reaped was the dress, and the make- up. It makes me cringe in absolute horror. I don't even dress up for the Reapings! I mean I am wearing black jeans and an over- sized white t- shirt!

I've always been terrified of being reaped for the Hunger Games, but it's different once you are actually reaped. Now I just feel numb, not that I am complaining. Feeling numb is much better than feeling scared.

I walk to the stage, one foot after the other. I'm not just some wimpy, cry baby little girl. No, I'm just one of the guys. After all, _I _was the one who won the battle way back in the ninth grade.

Why can't my big sister Hope and my best friend Carson feel the same way? No, please Hope, darn, now she's crying. She's crying into her boyfriend Zephyr's chest. She never cries, it's just taboo with her. She only cries like that when someone dies. Carson is taking this a lot better. He doesn't look like his normal humorous self, he just looks awkward and off in his own little world.

"Harry O'Rilley!" Deon announces in his forever girly voice. He's only a twelve year old, and he looks pretty terrified. He's shaking and looks like he-

"I volunteer!" A voice rings out. I'm shocked, totally blown away. The sea of boys part for a tall and skinny boy with messy black hair and dull grey eyes that are now shining with a strange light.

That, that nerd. What is he doing? Why would he volunteer to die? It is his little brother, but family isn't supposed to matter when it comes to the Hunger Games. He's never been a fighter, but I've always felt a little respect for him, and it just grew to its magnitude. He was always bullied, like me, for being different. Not once did he snap. I'd give anything to be in his head right now, to know just what tht apparently suicidal fifteen year old is thinking.

Too bad he'll probably be dead within the first five minutes in the arena. But who knows, I might be dead too. I'll just have to make sure that I drag a District One dirt bag down to Hell with me.

… **Sean O'Rilley…**

I can't really explain what came over me. It was pure instinct, I just needed to protect my little brother. I hate to admit that I had other reasons, and Harry being reaped was the push I needed. Maybe if I win and bring pride to my district, I might be accepted. I might finally belong. It's stupid to think that way, I know.

Harry wouldn't have stood a chance. He was saved and he is still bawling his eyes out. My best friend Ivy is giving me her death glare, as if I actually did something wrong. Oh, right, I volunteered. The biggest crime a best friend could ever commit. Then of course my mom was also crying.

My dad, my dad was… I guess I'll never know, I can always imagine, though. Just thinking about him awakens an anger inside of me that I wasn't even aware I had. He would be yet another reason that I volunteered. I have to prove him wrong, and show just what he left.

Back on track, Arianna Wallace. Major tomboy and big shot, unaware of her own weaknesses. Her biggest problem is submitting to the bullies' taunts. If you think that the bullies are bad than you better brace yourself for the Careers. Compared to them the bullies are going to seem like a walk in the park. She has her strengths too. I guess you could say she has some fighting experience, she has been in plenty of fights. Sure, I'm two years younger than her, but even I know that she has never lost a fight.

I need a plan. There's so many ways I could go; act weak or show my strength, alliance or no alliance, run or fight at the Cornucopia. I think it may be too late to act weak, by volunteering I can bet that I've put myself on the Careers radar. Alliances are important to have in there, you just need to end up with the right people. Fighting at the Cornucopia is a reckless act, that is Career pack territory. I have awhile to plan, and it'll be easier after I see just who I'm up against.

"What's your name?" Deon asks me, bringing me out of my strategic mode.

"Sean O'Rilley."

"Cool. Now, if you don't mind, can you two shake hands so I can finally get a snack?" Is he still worried about getting a snack? Apparently so. Arianna and my hand meet in the middle, and I can swear that I think she's looking at me like I'm already dead.

**Well that's District Five! Remember to leave a review on your way out!**


	8. Chapter 8: District 12 Reaping

**Disclaimer: All rights go to Suzanne Collins, I know…**

… **Janelle: Escort…**

Ah, calmness. It is truly a wonderful thing. The smell of coal and dust loiter in my nose, and honestly, it doesn't smell too bad. Then the smell of alcohol enters, and man does a nice cold beer sound really good right about now.

I am roused from my sweet slumber when I roll over and go plummeting off my chairs and to the stage floor. I land with an 'oof!' from myself.

"Uhhh," I moan while opening my eyes. I glare at the stupid, no good chairs. Why can't they put a nice, fluffy couch on the stage for me? Why did I even take this escort job again? All of the time I waste in the laughingstock of Panem, I could've spent doing more productive things, like napping. Blissful dreams could totally be happening right now, and I am missing out.

Oh, right. I figured having such an important job would get my mom off of my back. I slept through the whole job interview, can't imagine why I actually got the job. Whatever, as long as I get to keep sleeping on the job. Plus, the only time mother sees me is through a television screen. That, my friends, is definitely a bonus.

The sound of insane giggling floats into my ears. Haymich Abernathy in all of his glory. He takes another swig from his rather big wine bottle. He's a paunchy middle- aged guy who (my mothers words not mine) was once quite the babe to look at. Boy did old age take a toll on that one. His once sparkling gray eyes were now bloodshot and crazed, his black hair now falling limply with grease. Hm, it kind of makes me want to take a nap.

I sighed, and looked out at the sea of terrified looking kids. Well, I suppose not all of them look terrified. Some of them are just really good at hiding it. In the crowd I can see many old guys taking bets, probably on who is going to be reaped. Well, they're stupid. As far as I know, losing could mean starving in this district. Big whoop to them.

I guess I might as well do this Reaping. The sooner I do it, the sooner I can go back to sleep.

"Okay District Twelve, let's get this intense event over with. Then I can go back to my nap and you people can go back to whatever it is that you do," I said rather bluntly into the microphone, and out to all of Panem. Why should I care? I'm going to avoid the poor kidsanyway, and I'm definitely not going to watch them die on television. It takes effort to care.

"Boys are up first," I mutter, reaching my hand into the respectful bowl.

"Chale Flaughtner,"big whoop.

There is a high pitched scream from the crowd of citizens as all of the boys move away from a little kid in the twelve year old section. They always do that, like being reaped is a disease that you could catch if your too close.

The boy, Chale, stands at a height of exactly five feet, and I can immediately tell that he's probably from town. He has dirty blonde hair hair, gray eyes, and pale skin that has a tinge of tan to it. None of his bones stand out, telling me that he isn't starved. It means that he's healthy.

Its weird, because he isn't sobbing. He looks like he's just dreaming.

Already, I'm being careless. Already, I can see myself getting attached to this innocent child. (That's all any of the tributes are, really. They're all just children.) I know that I'm not supposed to, I don't want to, because I'll fall apart when he dies in there.

**... Chale Flaughtner...**

Just an hour ago I can remember playing soccer with all of my friends. My little sister Riley had been off to the sidelines, giggling with all of her friends.

That's all it takes, just an hour, for my family to shatter into a billion pieces. Once a big mirror, we are now just the remains from a bomb. I'm the bomb, rather the slip of paper is.

I walk to the stage, trying to turn my family's miserable sounds off. Riley is the one that's screaming bloody murder, (ironic). I imagine my father's hot tears as he hold Riley as she screams my name. My mom is the strongest, the base of our family, she's doing her best not to cry. Poor four month old Jackson is just picking up on Riley's distress.

I'm on the stage now, just feet away from our lazy escort Janelle. My parents always knew the risk of having children. They could be sacrificed. That's all I am now, a sacrifice.

It begins to truly dawn on me. I wouldn't be harvesting apples by the meadow this year, and I was going to get Riley over her fear of doing so. Never again would I help Mrs. Undersee with her laundry. I'd never help Primrose Everdeen sell her goat cheese, and I would never get to eat it with her again.

I feel like crying, but I know that I can't, not now. Maybe if I appear confident, it'll rub off. Yeah, fake confidence is usually the answer.

"Kalel Emerson!" Janelle announces in the non-caring tone of hers. I know Kalel enough to match face to name, but she's from Seam, and is six years older than me.

Sure enough, she pushes her way out of the crowd of teens. Her mid-length brown hair with side swept bangs, bright blue eyes that are practically hidden, and with an average height of 5'4.

From what my older friends told me, Kalel was an outcast. I can't recall ever meeting anybody that knew much of anything about her.

Its kind of strange how the Hunger Games can throw people together, people that were probably never destined to meet.

**... Kalel Emerson...**

Life is miserable enough without the Hunger Games butting in. I mean this was my last year of having to stand in this crowd of kids. I thought that I was home free. That's where the Hunger Games comes in, just in time to send life as I know it on a backwards spiral.

Being reaped has to have a good side, right? Hm... all I can think of is the feeling of being full while I get to stay in the Capital. Not a very strong side, I admit.

When I see the Peacekeepers make a move to haul me to the stage, I begin pushing through the kids to get to the stage. If the other tributes see that I have to be hauled to the stage,it'll make me seem weak. I'm not weak, I'm a tough girl, tough enough.

My small family has collapsed into a pitiful pile of sobs. My best friend looks like back in the fifth grade, when his dog was electrocuted. It really hurt. My siblings Kaitileen and my brother Keedo. My best friend Joel. The only people I care about that are still alive. Kaitileen was supposed to be the responsible adult of our family, I thought that she was the glue that held us all together. The glue must've cracked under the weight; I dragged it down.

They're acting like I'm already dead. Couldn't they wait to do this when- no, if- I'm shipped home in a box? I'm confident in myself and what I'm capable of. Maybe, with a lot of work, I could win. I'll be underestimated, and that gives me an edge. A small edge, but still an edge.

I look at the young boy in front of me. He was never supposed to be reaped, he lived in town, and never had to take tesserae. I know the other screaming family as his. A nine year old sister and a baby brother. The baby will never even know him, he'll fade from the little girl's mind over time. It just breaks my heart.

He's doing good so far, but he can't hide the absolute terror in his eyes. I let my loving sister side get a hold of me. When we shake hands I pull him into a bear hug.

I hadn't realized that I would have to live with the consequences of my action.

**Theres District 12! We're inching closer and closer to finishing the Reapings. I've been sulking because I start school again on Friday, poop.**

**Following/favoriting me also counts for points. Remember that EVERY review counts for 5 points. Sponsoring will come in later chapters.**

**Sayanara, and see you soon!**


	9. Chapter 9: District 2 Reaping

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games.**

… **Marko: Escort…**

I hate it here. I've always hated being an escort, but I especially hate it here. I miss being in District Three. In District Three they always sob, and sometimes they even scream. Plus, they always die in the stupidest ways, meaning that I can have celebratory cheese. It was the best, all I have to do is scare them so that they know that I'm on their side. Definitely not on their side, I was anticipating their death.

Of course I'd end up in District Two. I don't scare them, in fact, they probably find _me_ amusing. It's not supposed to work that way. Another problem, _they hardly ever die. _When they do die (at least one of them is guaranteed to die) it's never glamorous. It's always the classic stab. Though I do admit, they give the audience a great show, just not to me.

I hate my stupid sister. She's the one that thought it would be fun for both of us became escorts. Well, she's paying for it, I bet she's as bitter as me where she is. I'd vote her into the Hunger Games if I could. She'd probably just trip right off of a cliff, I would pay loads of money to see that in the front row. Now that is a show.

Gosh, I hate my life, I hate it so much. It was better when I was young, but I'm forty-four now, and my life has turned into an endless cycle. Sleep, eat, watch television, eat again, poop, get fatter, turn to beer, and wake with a hangover; not necessarily in that order. My escort cycle differs a little; sleep, eat breakfast with grumpy tributes, listen as tributes whine to the mentors, glare if they get too close, eat again, grow older... The only thing that I used to look forward to was to eat my cheese as the tributes die a hilarious death. Now I can't even do that.

The mentors for District Two this year, I hate them with a passion. The feelings are mutual, actually.

Enobaria! The girl that bit herself through the tributes. Why don't people get that it's absolutely disgusting? She's like twenty-eight now, and got special sharp teeth for biting people. Honestly, her victims probably drowned in her saliva. Revolting, I hate it, I hate her.

Then there's lucky boy Brutus! He's bald, yeah, I said it. He's also forty, which means that he's getting old, like me. Sadly, the only dirt I could dig up on him is his baldness, and I didn't really have to dig at all. I'm not done digging yet though.

I hate them; I hate all of them.

You could easily pick out the trainees in the roped off area. It's painfully obvious. They all look the same, evilly demented. To me, they look like someone just stole they're French toast; but on a whole other level.

The sooner I do this, the sooner the cycle begins, or better yet, the sooner it ends. I'm still going to do what I do best: hate.

"Happy stupid Hunger Games District Two! I hate you, and I wish that you would die spontaneously. A man can hope," I said. This earned me a lit of glares from the midget monstors. Oh well, hopefully we'll have a hate-hate relationship.

"Ladies first," I mumbled. What? I'm still a gentleman. Whether the monsters in this district are ladies is another story.

"Scarlett ." I look around for the girl before I spot her making her way towards the stage. She has long wavy blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and a height of 5'7. She's coming from the fifteen section, and I can tell that she's a trainee. All of the trainees like the devil's spawn, and the light scars on her face give out the terrifying vibe.

I hate her, she's related to other victors. That means that she's probably got the victor gene. I swear that they all have some sort of arrangement with Death going on.

**... Scarlett ...**

When I'm reaped, I can't help but feel that my mom had something to do with it. Since no one in District Two takes tesserae they put more trainee names in to make it fuller. I wonder how many she made sure had my name on it.

You know what? I don't really care about going in early. (No ones volunteering, my dad and three brothers are victors. Not to mention my mom would kill anyone that tries before she could even open her mouth.) I'm going to win.

I try to keep the icy look on my face, but the ends of my lips turn up the slightest bit. Rest assured, I call dibs on killing the District Twelve tributes. I'll make sure to drag it out, to let them know that it's all their fault. It'll make the District Twelve audience sick with absolute fear.

He was supposed to win, but _they got in the way. _They practically killed him, so it's only right that I politely return the favor.

My friends, they have such different expressions. Simone has a wicked grin on her face, Rebekah just nods her head at me, Bentley looks nervous, and Cato is giving me both thumbs up. They better be thinking that I can win, because I will.

Incan tell that Kole is going to give me a lecture on what to do when he comes to say goodbye. He'll tell me everything I already know, I'll sass him, and he will tell me off.

My mom will probably just come to tell me what a disgrace I'll be if I lose. Dad will be right next to Kole. I doubt my other brothers will bother to come at all.

Honestly, the only thing I'm looking forward to in the Games is killing the District Twelve tributes.

"Clay Kn-" Marko doesn't get to finish.

"I volunteer!" An eighteen year old shouts. His brown hair falls to his shoulders with bangs, and his skin is pale. I know that his impressive height of 6'4 and piercing gray eyes are supposed to be intimidating. Well he doesn't scare me.

Heath Arrowson, I already knew that he'd volunteer. They had a fight to the death at the Training Center for who would volunteer yesterday. Heath made a mess of Tero Greene.

He is what everyone wants him to be: a cold hearted Career. Practically soulless. I'm not, but I guess I will be. If they want a cold hearted Career tribute, I'll give them just that.

**... Heath Arrowson...**

Killing Tero last night sealed the deal. He was pretty pathetic, and I had fun tearing him apart. Even if I had lost I would've volunteered anyway. (Or not chosen to fight, be if I lost I'd be dead.)

I see that my dad is glaring at me with a lot of force. My brothers are sneering at me. I don't know what they're problem is, I was kicked out this morning. He told me how worthless and useless I was. He cursed at me for killing his wife, my mom.

Thats part of the reason I volunteered. I can get away from my dad, and prove him wrong. Besides the obvious fact that my talent is killing so I'm a useful fighter for my district. The riches, the praise, and my own place is a much appreciated added bonus.

A bunch of girls are squealing and beaming at me. _Fan girls,_ I scoffed. The only girl I care about is Aisha. (No, not in that way, she's only a friend.) Aisha is smiling warmly at me, but she has a nervous glint in her eyes. She has faith in me, but that's Aisha, and that's just what she does. She is always going to be worried about me.

Now, my district partner, Scarlett . I actually know a fair amount about her. Her brothers Kole, Syliss, and Hunter are victors along with her father Blayne. Three years ago her other brother died in the Games, but he did make it to the final three. That's definitely a hard core family.

Scarlett herself, I really don't know that much. I'll happen to see her train every once and awhile; she never misses.

"What's your name hot shot?" Marko asked, still scowling.

"Heath Arrowson."

"Well that's great. Just shake hands already," he grumbled, going into the Justice Building.

Scarlett turns to me, and I can tell that she's trying not to smile; probably her thought. I shake her hand. I really hope it doesn't come down to us; I'd never be able to face her family again.

**Yeah, I got that done fast. I write when I'm nervous, and I start school tomorrow. Updates will probably slow down a little bit once I start to school. I'll have school, volleyball, and National Junior Honors. So yeah.**

**Just like you, I'm getting to know our tributes, and I am going to have so much trouble killing them in the arena. **

**Adios.**


	10. Chapter 10: Distrcit 11 Reaping

**IMPORTANT NOTE!**

**Please check out these good SYOTs. Submit one tribute (to the SYOT of your choice), telling me their name, and each of your tributes will get 10 points. Tell them that I sent you :D **

_**Nightmares, by: ShootingforWishingStars – my tribute is Anna (but I'm not sure if she was accepted yet.)**_

_**The Millenia Games, by: Alkestis – my tributes are Hope and Jay**_

_**Oblivion- The 4**__**th**__** Quarter Quell, by Domihearts1497- my tribute is Barkley**_

_**Bloody Night, by Peace Love Hunger Games- my tributes are Kat, Brady, and Marley**_

_**The 21st Annual Hunger Games by AvalonJackson21- my tribute is Lanie**_

**ALSO **

**I now have a blog for this story! The link is also on my profile! (Don't forget to remove the spaces)**

**72ndhungergames . blogspot .com**

**Disclaimer: I want the Hunger Games for Christmas, but you know... And I don't own the poem in this, it's by Allison Chambers Coxsey.**

…**Dice:Escort…**

I'm going to be honest, I'm not that happy about escorting District Eleven. It's way better than my time in Twelve, but Eleven just isn't a big name district. Though I admit that it's very nice here. I especially love all of the flowers, but it's crawling with Peacekeepers.

Well I'll just have to deal with it. When I applied I knew that I would have to work my way to the better districts. Besides, maybe a climate change will be good for my health. At least, I'm pretty sure I've read that in a magazine somewhere.

Still, how I would love to taste the salty air in District Four. That would feel so amazing right now. I remember vacationing in that district as a child. That was the only time of year that I could work n my tan; I guess now I'll forever be working on my pale. Can you imagine a fate worse than that?

Oh, I can also imagine myself in the sweet luxury of District One. Tell me about first class treatment; massages, pedicures, a big grand feast!

For a few minutes I let myself imagine that I am actually in these places. Oh! Learning to surf! Fantastic, fantastic. Ahhhhhh, I could totally rock those waves. Calabunga!

I open my eyes and I'm still… not… there. Right, I'm still escorting for District Eleven.

The people are nice here though! I mean, the victors are _really _nice people.

Seeder is definitely super nice. Surprisingly though, she doesn't really look like she's from District Eleven. What with her olive skin and silver- streaked black hair. The inly District Eleven trait she has is the amber eyes. Anyway, she's totally nice, absolutely nothing like my grandmother.

Chaff, is Chaff. At least he has the District Eleven traits. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a stump where his hand is supposed to be. (The hand thing isn't a common trait, in case you were wondering.) He's already managed to mess with me. He poured his alcohol _all over my newly styled sea green hair. _My stylist didn't have time to fix it, so now I'm just so… so… so _violated! _I know I'm supposed to respect my elders, but he makes it so hard. Next he'll violate my new swim trunks.

Well, I guess I've got to do this Reaping. I do hope to make it to District Four by the time I'm forty. Hopefully by then Chaff will be dead.

"Hello District Eleven! Happy 72nd Annual Hunger Games!" I try to be excited, but my voice just sounds so bland. It would help if they could actually be excited about this. Must they make everything so difficult for me?

"Ladies first, as it should always be," I say, trying to smoothly move this along. I suppose I'm considered pretty smooth.

I 'gracefully' go to the girls' bowl and reach my hand in. I open the single slip slowly, and pause for dramatic effect before announcing the name. I guess that's the fun thing about outer districts. No one volunteers so it's okay to draw it out.

"Blodwen Calla!"

There are a lot of gasps throughout the crowd. Then I spot the girl in the thirteen section being comforted by her friends. Her long silky brown hair portrays a halo in the sunlight, just as her carmel colored skin and dark brown hair mark her as from Fistrict Eleven. How can she be thirteen? She doesn't even look old enough for her name to be in the Reaping ball.

What is this horrible feeling creeping around in my chest? Oh no, it gets even worse every time I look at her. Is this... guilt? What in the world do I have to be guilty for?

**... Blodwen Calla...**

My favorite poem is engraved in my soul and my heart. It's straight from the poem book.

_The sacrifice of love we give,_  
_Takes less and yet gives more;_  
_An everlasting hand of love,_  
_The heart an open door._

_The willingness to give of self,_  
_To lay down your own life;_  
_To touch another person's heart,_  
_In loving sacrifice._

_A chance that God has given you,_  
_To reach another soul;_  
_Forever changed by kindness,_  
_A life your love made whole._

_For life is but a circle,_  
_Each life part of the chain;_  
_Each link is joined by sacrifice,_  
_That causes man to change._

_To turn and reach a hand of love,_  
_To touch another's life;_  
_Will cause the circle to be whole,_  
_In loving sacrifice._

I think that it's really pretty, but they were only words before.

The title is Sacrifice. It goes right along with what President Snow says at the Tribute Parade: _Welcome! We salute your courage and your **sacrifice **and we wish you Happy Hunger Games! _

I'm being sacrificed for something that occured over seventy- two years ago.

It's slightly less terrifying when I think about it like that. I'd like to think that while I am going into the arena, I'm saving someone else from having to. So I am not just being sacrificed to the Hunger Games, but I am also being sacrificed to save all of the girls in District Eleven. At least for this year.

Thinking like that is easier than thinking about aving to hurt someone in the arena; having to kill someone in cold blood. I can't even bear to hurt someone mentally, how am I supposed to physically hurt someone?

"Syro Dubious," Dice announces over the sound of a five year old's screams. Over little Sammy's scream.

Syro isn't much older than me, I think he's fifteen. Everyone calls him the Ghost of District Eleven because he is always alone and hardly ever talks. I've never heard him speak. Actually, I'm pretty sure the only person that has heard him speak is Keri Sparks.

Well, I can be glad that I don't really know him. What if he was a classmate or a friend? How would I ever live with myself if I had let them be massacred? I guess I don't need to worry about that, because I don't know him.

Still, how am I just supposed to sit by and watch someone from my home be killed, knowing that I could help? can't, but this is the Hunger Games. I also can't afford to sacrifice myself for a sacrifice. That would defeat the President's whole purpose of sacrifices because people can't be sacrificed twice.

**... Syro Dubious...**

I hate this. Don't people have better things to do than stare at me? I guess not, not for the moment anyway.

All of this uneeded attention on myself makes me want to go back home to my dark lonely basement. no one can openly stare at me there, and no one can call me a mute.

I know what all of them out there are thinking. '_How does a ghost count as a tribute?, Well, nothing but trash this year., Finally, one person this year that we won't even miss."_ Well, at least the feelings between people and myself are mutual. I don't like them either, and I'm looking forward to never seeing (or hearing) them ever again. By far the highlight of my now guarenteed death. Oh, the irony.

I begin my death walk to the stage. (Or should I call it my final walk as a living man?)

My mother is sobbing into my father's chest. I wish she would tone down the water works; we weren't really that close. At least my father gets it, maybe that means he gets it. Don't get me wrong, I still love them, I just don't think that I am close enough to them that they would cry about this.

Keri's crying too. I don't like it at all when she cries. She has always been the person that I can count on to be happy in my life. I guess life- altering situations can distress a person.

Blodwen Calla looks like a joke standing up on the stage by Dice. Neither of us are going to be making lasting impressions on the Capital and the Careers. I can practically see us being marked off as bloodbaths.

Well I sure as Hell don't plan on dying in the bloodbath, (or at all for that matter.) But I think Blodwen will. She's so small and defenceless, and she reminds me of a wounded bunny in the middle of the road. I am going to have to leave the bunny to get run over... That makes me sound like a horrible person.

If she's going to die anyway, I might think about talking to her. If she's lucky I might even tell her how Keri got me to open up.

**That's a wrap! I made the vollyball team, so who knows when I'll update again, but I'll write during my free time. Let me know if you see something horribly wrong with your tribute in the blog. **

**Next up is District Six! See you then!**


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